A Wolf's Song
by writingtofly
Summary: Ayana Frey has always been treated like an outcast due to her runaway Dornish mother. With her plans set in motion, as she was finally ready to leave this life behind, a wolf came in her path and changed its course forever. As she would change his. Another one of those Robb/Frey OFC stories
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

* * *

I try so hard to remember those days when I was a girl, readily available to be teased and mocked by anyone who wanted to feel good about themselves that particular day. When the only solace I had was my room, my maid and my sister. All I ever wanted was to leave that wretched place, just like my mother. And I did.

The mustiness of the Twins, the constant humidity and the dank that made you want to scrub yourself clean every hour. Somehow my hair was the only hair that dared to not go limp as my sisters' did – one of the few pleasant thoughts I had about myself while I lived there. The crowded rooms and the overflowing dining hall during feasts, with uncountable brothers and sisters and uncles and nieces.

All of that feels like a different world altogether. My world became so vast the moment I stepped out of that place.

And now it feels even smaller than the one I began with.

"How long have you been lying here without a fire?" He murmured as he entered the room, in case I was asleep.

"Not very long. Just got lost in my thoughts for a while." I replied while barely holding on to my past life's memories.

He bent down towards the furnace, struggling to revive the dying embers. "This is hopeless. I can see why you gave up. I suppose I'll have to join you under the covers then." He said as he ran towards the bed, ducking under the covers beside me.

I shrieked as I felt his icy hands all over my belly through my nightdress, "Seven hells Robb! Hands!"

"Oh gods I'm so sorry! Let me warm them up for you."

"Let it be Robb, just…hold me." He wrapped his arms around me as I asked, "Everything is ready then? For tomorrow?"

"Aye. As ready as it can be." He sighed, as I turned towards him, finding him looking right at me but clearly thinking about the days that were to come after tomorrow. If they even would.

His shoulders were still as broad as the first time I saw him, although he had lost a lot of weight since then. One could see it in the sharpness of his jaw, though the heavy beard covered most of it. Rationing had done that, especially since the seas had frozen over and no more food could get to us from the South. Not that it would matter after tomorrow.

Robb. When did he ever not frown? His siblings told me of a time when he was so terrible at holding in his laugh, they would pull pranks on him in public to make him burst with laughter at the most inappropriate moments.

By the time I first saw him, the lines between his brows were already slightly visible, only sharpening when he would make his face pensive. Now, they were practically engraved. I still could not resist trying to press them away with my fingers.

"Whose hands are cold now?" He said jokingly, as I tried to flatten the frown lines on his forehead for the umpteenth time.

Even now, as he looks into my eyes, I feel almost the same as I did the first time he looked at me so – scared but at the same time, excited. Or perhaps the feelings are one in the same.

The first time I saw him, I didn't even look at him properly. All I remember seeing was a large, dark, looming figure, drenched in the rain as he climbed off his horse.

And those eyes of course. The bluest eyes even the murkiness of the Twins could not dim. Put my most beautiful sister's to shame, those eyes. Yet what terrified me, like everyone else, was his reputation, and from what I could gauge at that moment, his anger.

"I can come with you Robb. I can fight alongs—"

He released a deep breath, as if my concern for his wellbeing were a burden, "Then who is going to protect the remaining people inside the keep, eh? You are their queen. Everyone who is left here will need you to keep their spirits up. You will be their last defence."

"And you? Who is going to protect you? You expect me to sit here while my husband goes off to battle for the thousandth time and this time against an enemy that refuses to die?! How am I supposed to just—!"

"Ayana." He interrupted me in exasperation. "I don't want to fight you, not tonight, please. How long have we wasted our time together doing just that?"

Too much.

"Then how would you like to spend our last night together, your grace?" I hated this, pretending like I wasn't scared shitless. Like tomorrow all our nightmares weren't coming true. The long night had lasted for months, and tomorrow would determine whether it would end, or last forever.

I heard the mattress creaking as he propped himself over me, tracing his now warm fingers across my forehead, my lashes, my nose, my lips, my neck—

"I want to remember this, us, just like this. This is all that matters. If everything ends tomorrow, I want to remember the warmth I feel when I am beside you, and inside you." He murmured as he leaned in to finally kiss me.

Everything that had brought us here together, all the pointless wars, the doubts, the arguments, the betrayals and the hurt, I would face a million times over, if it meant I could hold on to him for just a little longer.

"Lie to me Robb. Tell me everything will be fine and that you will survive and we will finally have a real chance to be together, please." I whispered as he nuzzled at my neck.

A part of me laughs at who I have become. Never would I have imagined that I would or even could fall in love so desperately, and could be loved so greatly in return – that the day the young wolf chose me, would seal our fates forever.

If I had known that tomorrow was going to happen ten years ago, I would have run across the ramparts of the Twins right at that looming figure who I would call my husband, and kiss him – beg him to choose me – tell him that I would love him more than anything and that I would not waste a single moment spent with him.

But alas, our lives were never meant to be so easy.

* * *

Author's Note: Hello! Welcome to my first ever fic. I have been reading fan-fictions for a long time yet have never had the guts to write one myself so here it goes. Criticism is most welcome, as is politeness.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: A Deal is Struck**

* * *

_Ten Years Ago_

_298 AC_

The years had not made the slightest difference to the Twins, Catelyn thought, as she rode across the bridge with her Frey escorts.

She was five years old the first time she visited the keep with her family. It was Lord Frey's fifth wedding to one of her mother's cousins, and she remembered listening to her parents quarreling over whether the wedding warranted a visit to the Twins. Her mother ultimately won and as Catelyn climbed in her carriage for the journey, her uncle the Blackfish bid her goodbye by warning her, in jest, to beware of the ghosts of the Twins.

She remembered her mother chiding her uncle for scaring Catelyn so and how she made sure to convince young Cat throughout the entire journey that there was no such thing as ghosts.

But when she finally saw those ugly, formidable towers, her faith in her uncle's warnings was restored. The two towering castles emerged from the rain, like ghosts. Hazy grey apparitions that grew more solid the closer they rode. Each night she stayed there, she slept beside her mother, and made her sing to her until she fell asleep. Her uncle was right. The Twins were haunted, inside and out.

And much to her dismay, as Catelyn rode towards the eastern castle for the second time in her life, her childhood fears remained intact.

She thanked the gods for giving her the sense to prevent Robb from coming here with her. At least for now.

"Lady Stark, welcome to the Eastern Castle of the Twins. Our Lord is expecting you in the great hall." Ser Rodrik followed right behind Catelyn and looked at everyone with wary eyes.

So many Freys everywhere. Not a single crevice of the castle was devoid of people, lining from the hallway till the great hall. All dressed in greys, greens and browns, ultimately fading into one single colour that reminded Catelyn of mud trampled on by horses. It was clear that they were expecting Robb and all of his bannermen. As she entered the hall, she found herself looking at someone who was surprisingly not Walder Frey.

"My Lady Stark, you are a sight for sore eyes in these trying times. Time has certainly not dulled your beauty." Said one of Walder Frey's sons in the most unexpected courteous manner.

"You are too kind, my lord." Catelyn held in a breath of relief at not finding Lord Walder Frey greeting her. Everyone knew that Lord Walder had lived way past his prime, for at least ten years now. But a part of her could not believe their luck to be so great to actually find him replaced by his heir. "May I enquire of Lord Walder Frey? Is he unwell?"

"No I am bloody well not!" And there went that breath of relief, at the screeching voice of the infamous Walder Frey.

"What do you think you are doing, boy?! Get off my chair!" The 'boy' with hair grayer than Catelyn's father scrammed to one of the sides designated for Lord Frey's sons, grandsons and great-grandsons.

"But father, you were indisp—"

"Shut up, you milksop!" Lord Walder entered, along with his quivering bride who was not much older than Sansa, and seated himself.

Catelyn knew if she did not make her presence known soon, this…bickering would go on forever. "It is a great pleasure to see you again after so many years, my lord."

Lord Walder turned his disgruntled gaze towards her at last. "Oh, spare me. Your boy's too proud to come before me himself. What am I supposed to do with you?" He asked dismissively, as if Catelyn's presence were an annoyance, rather than the kind of opportunity she knew someone like Walder Frey could smell from miles away.

"Father, you forget yourself. Lady Stark is here–"

"Who asked you, Stevron? You're not Lord Frey yet, not until I die. Do I look dead to you?!"

Lord Frey gestured for Catelyn to step closer to the dais and kissed her hand while remaining seated. "There, now that I have observed the courtesies, perhaps my son will do me the honour of shutting his mouth."

Catelyn looked at Ser Rodrik waiting at the entrance, who nodded back at her and stepped outside. "Is there somewhere we can talk?" She asked Lord Frey, hoping he would understand her intent.

"We're talking right now." He remarked, raising his brow. "Fine. Out! All of you! You too, my sweet." Lord Walder said to his child bride as he swatted her backside on her way out.

He watched her leave with his lecherous eyes while speaking to Catelyn. "You see that? Fifteen, she is. A little flower. And her honey's all mine."

"I'm sure she will give you many sons." Catelyn replied in the way a lady was trained to by her septas, despite of what she truly felt about the person or the situation in front of her. And at this moment, Catelyn was feeling what every woman around Walder Frey always felt; revolted.

"Your father didn't come to the wedding."

"He is quite ill, my lord."

"Huh. Didn't come to the last one, either. Or the one before that. Your family has always pissed on me."

"My lord, I…"

"Don't deny it. You know it's true. The fine Lord Tully would never marry any of his children to mine. Why are you here?"

"To ask you…to open your gates, my lord…so my son and his bannermen may cross the Trident and be on their way."

"And why should I let him?" She would not make it so easy for him. He had to know the position he was in.

"If you could climb your own battlements, you would see that he has men outside your walls." This was not the time for Catelyn to be flowery with her words. She had to make Walder Frey understand that Robb Stark was not to be taken lightly.

"Hmph. They'll be corpses when Tywin Lannister gets here. Don't try to frighten me, Lady Stark. Your husband's in a cell beneath the Red Keep and your son's got no fur to keep his balls warm."

She struggled to not appear affronted. Catelyn could not remember anyone ever having spoken to her in this way. From when she was a Tully, till when she became a Stark, Lady Catelyn had always been treated with the utmost regard and respect. She was entitled to it.

But she was beginning to understand that the world that existed now was no longer the one that Ned had built. Or perhaps having been his wife for so long had blinded her to the fact that the world had always been this way – the one that belonged to men like Walder Frey.

For Ned's and her daughters' sakes she forced herself to remain calm. "You swore an oath to my father."

"Oh, yes. I said some words. And I swore oaths to the crown too, if I remember right. Joffrey's king now, which makes your boy and his corpses-to-be nothing but rebels, it seems to me. If I had the sense the gods gave a fish, I'd hand you both over to the Lannisters."

"Why don't you?" Catelyn asked, already dreading what was to come. The ghosts of the Twins her uncle had once warned her about would be leaving with her today, and perhaps haunt her forever.

"Stark, Tully, Lannister, Baratheon. Give me one good reason why I should waste a single thought on any of you?"

* * *

"_I'll take you dreaming, through the rainy night_

_To a place behind the raindrops _

_Where the stars are bright_

_You will find no gold or silver _

_But a richer prize _

_Waits for you behi…"_

I gasped as I woke up to a harsh knock on our door and then subsequent knocks on the doors along the hallway. This was unusual.

"What the fuck is going on?" Amerei whined as she buried her head inside her pillow.

"Ami it's morning, could you not? Shirei's in the room." I heard Walda say as she was already up and bustling about the room.

I, in the meanwhile, was still trying to catch hold of the voice that had been singing to me in my dream. But before I could, my sheets were rudely ripped away from me.

"Good morning!" Walda's bright voice cheered in my ears as she pushed me to sit up.

"Do you know what is happening? I can still hear knocking everywhere all at once. Is the castle on fire? Please tell me it's on fire."

She gave me an exasperated look to make me desist, as if she were older than me by several years rather than the few months she actually was. Also, I was technically her aunt.

"I don't know yet Ayana, but we have been instructed to dress ourselves within the next hour and get to the great hall. Joyce will be coming with news soon. In the meantime, get yourself washed and ready so we can get to the young ones."

"Ugh, why do we have to do everything?" I thought aloud as I sifted through my cupboard to pick something decent to wear. Green, grey or brown, I mused. From the hustle and bustle this morning, I could tell someone important was on their way to our abode.

"You know why."

Yes, I knew exactly why. Because we didn't have anyone who would fight for us not to. That was one of the many reasons why Walda and I got along so well.

I readied myself as fast as I could and then went to the last bed in our room that belonged to my youngest sister Shirei. Since her mother's passing three years ago, she had one day decided that she would only cling to me and so I became her unwitting carer.

"Shirei, get up, we have to get you ready." And to that she gave me the widest grin I had ever seen and launched herself at me, forcing me to settle her on my hips.

"Shirei, we don't have time right now. We can play later."

"Promise?"

"Hmm."

After taking care of ourselves and Shirei, we somehow managed to push Ami to do the same, which proved to be more difficult than Shirei as she was not a hungover sixteen-year old.

Walda and I left the room to check on all our younger sisters and nieces and were escorting them to the great hall, when we bumped into Joyce, my elder sister Derwa's handmaid.

"What are you both still doing here?" Joyce asked, clearly annoyed with our tardiness.

"We were getting all the young ones to the hall. What is going on, Joyce?" I asked as we hurried down the stairs.

"The Starks from the north are supposedly on their way to Riverrun and need passage across the bridge. Your lord father wants all the girls ready to be presented."

"Presented?"

"The Hand's son is leading the men, Robb Stark of Winterfell. Of course your father would never miss the opportunity to barter one of you lot in exchange for their passage."

"Is that right, you wretch?" I instantly became breathless at the sound of Black Walder's voice from behind us.

Joyce's face drained of all colour. "My Lord! Apologies I…"

"There is no need. You will be flogged appropriately at a later time. Take Fat Walda with you and join the others. I'll escort this one myself." He sneered at both Joyce and Walda and waited for them to leave. I kept my eyes low, hoping he would forget about me. But his words to Joyce made it clear that he hadn't. He turned to me once they left.

"Shall we, my dear aunt?" He always referred to me in this manner, despite being over twice my age. Though he wasn't wrong. He was the great-grandson of my father.

And he absolutely terrified me.

I walked beside him, trying to stay as far away from him as possible. He smelled of seaweed, leather and old sweat, a smell common to the Western Castle of the Twins, as most of the unmarried Frey men resided there.

He reveled in making me uncomfortable. I could already feel his hand inching from my upper back towards a place it should never be.

"You have certainly grown, Ayana. You resemble your mother more and more every day. Although, I remember her being much slender. Fat Walda is clearly influencing your eating-habits. Might want to watch that if you want for good prospects. Not that you'll have many, considering your…status. But, you never know. You are shaping up to be better looking than half of our lot."

"Thank you, m-my lord."

He stopped us right before we entered the hall and pushed me against the wall. I wanted to scream just like I had practiced in my head a hundred times over, whenever I had nightmares about this very scenario.

Instead, I closed my eyes and begged for someone else to come our way and save me.

"Look at you, all shivery. Your hair's out of place, that's all." He murmured as he pushed back the unruly strands behind my ear. He then began to finger my pendant that was peeking out of my dress just when–

"Ayana?" Thank the gods for Tyta!

Black Walder immediately stepped away from me and stalked off in the direction of the dais as Tyta approached me.

"You alright, my bird? Did he do anything?"

"No, I'm fine. Just shaken up is all." This was not the time to release the waterworks, I reminded myself. It would only make things worse, attracting further unwanted attention and mockery.

"Let us go and find somewhere to squeeze ourselves into where nobody can see us, yeah?" Whenever Tyta spoke, she did so in a wispy voice, almost inaudible. Spinster Frey, they called her, as she remained unwed at twenty-eight years of age. She told me how she never married anyone because this is where she was meant to live and die. Not that she had many prospects to begin with. Her looks weren't what made most turn away from her, but rather her peculiar seeming habits. Habits that some might want her to be burnt alive at the stake for.

"I made more of that arrowroot powder, if you need some." She whispered in my ear. Just what I needed, a reminder that indeed I was not slender like my mother. I used to be a gangly thing until I flowered and suddenly my thighs thickened, my hips widened and my chest expanded. From that day onward, everyone mocked me by saying how I finally came into my Dornish nature. My sisters constantly reminded me of my unworthy looks, mocking me for my shape, my colour, my hair and whatever else. On the other hand, my brothers, uncles and nephews reminded me, how I reminded them of what they considered Dornish women to be – whores.

Tyta and I couldn't even enter the great hall, but that was fine by us. We stood right at the end of the hallway that led up to the entrance and awaited the Stark boy and his entourage.

But the boy never showed. Nor his men. A woman was escorted instead, with faded auburn hair, and an upright gait. I could barely see her, but from what I could see, she was the most refined looking lady I had ever laid eyes on.

She looked like a queen.

"It's Lady Catelyn Stark, the Lord of Riverrun's daughter and the Hand's wife." Tyta whispered in my ear. For someone who kept to herself as much as her, she sure knew a lot about everyone.

"Why has she come by herself? Shouldn't Robb Stark be the one to meet with father?" She shrugged in response. I supposed it was a good thing. Our father would have eaten the boy alive.

As Lady Stark approached the dais, everyone became settled. That is until our father's screech let us know that he was not the one currently seated on the dais. We could hear him yell at Stevron for taking father's place in his absence. After that, apart from father's yelling, we couldn't hear much. I tried squeezing between people to push myself ahead in order to hear what was going on, when Lord Frey's voice surged.

"_Out! __All of you!"_

There was only one place so many of us could move to all at once and that was the dining hall. Good thing too, since most of us hadn't even eaten before we were asked to be 'presented'.

I found Shirei and Walda seated at one of the tables and sat next to them. Thankfully, someone had had the sense to inform the kitchens to serve some bread, fruit and wine until father relieved us.

"What do you think they're discussing right now 'yana?" Walda asked as she took four slices of bread onto her plate. I looked at mine and kept the two I had taken back in the serving basket and took a piece of fruit instead, a small one.

Before I could say anything, my sisters jumped at the opportunity to regale us with information.

"The Stark boy wants to cross the bridge and he has to pay the toll. He sent his mother on his behalf to negotiate most likely."

"Hmm. I heard there's going to be a battle against the Lannisters and the Stark boy is leading his men to fight them because they arrested his father."

"Riverrun is being besieged at this very moment. Perhaps he wants to go relieve his grandfather's keep from Jaime Lannister."

"Definitely."

"I heard he looks like a Tully. Handsome too, I bet. Do you think we'll get to see him? Father might ask him to marry one of us as part of the negotiation."

I tried to tune out the voices of my loud sisters when I saw Shirei tearing up her bread into little pieces. "Shirei stop playing with the bread. Eat it."

"And why should she listen to you, Ayana? She's not _your_ sister." Ah, and here I was hoping Arwyn was seated far, far away from me.

"Well if she didn't, she would go hungry. You could tell her yourself if you want to, but no one likes to listen to your dull voice, Arwyn."

"You bitch."

"Arwyn, do not stoop to her level, I have told you countless times." Derwa asserted in her usual fake-aristocratic lilt.

Most would think that it was Arwyn that I couldn't get along with. We fought frequently enough. But it was Derwa who hated me the most. She despised me so much that she never even spoke to me directly. As if talking to me would taint her. And I never crossed that line with her either. Somehow I knew that if I ever dared to talk to her, she would break me.

I heard loud voices lower to gentle murmurs and knew father had made his entrance. He passed by our table and managed to look at each one of us.

"Where is my wine?!" He bellowed at the serving maids while moving to stand behind the main table on the dining hall dais.

"I have an announcement to make so you lot, shut your traps. Today, Lady Catelyn Stark came on behalf of her boy to demand passage through our bridge. I gave her my consent in exchange for several things."

"First; half of my men will leave with the Starks tonight as part of his army." A resounding collective groan could be heard throughout the hall. We Freys were known for a lot of things, indolence being one of them.

"Stop your moaning! Ryman and Black Walder will lead the Frey men and they will let you know who is to join." I inwardly sighed with relief at hearing this, just as Walda gave me an assuring look.

"Second; Olyvar, arise! You will be Robb Stark's personal squire. The only way you might ever manage to get a knighthood by your damned self." Olyvar was one of the only few brothers I could actually get along with and him leaving saddened me a little. But since most of them were leaving with him, I couldn't complain much.

"Third; my son Waldron will marry his sister Arya when they both come of age."

"And lastly, the Stark boy will marry one of my daughters, or any one of my granddaughters named Frey–"

Our tables had gone quiet as soon as father made the last, and definitely the most important announcement of the day. It was no secret that every Frey girl wanted to leave this place for a better one. Sister would betray sister for good prospects in a heartbeat. And when one lived in a place like this, surrounded by weaselly looking men; where lines of kin blurred and uncles groped their nieces, and grand-nephews were twice the age of their aunts, testing familial norms on a daily basis; one had no choice but to stomp over whoever and whatever would stand in their way to freedom.

"–once the war is over."

And suddenly the quiet gave way to loud chatter. I could already anticipate the wagers that would take place amongst the menfolk, the women and even the servants of the household, about which Frey girl would get to marry the eligible son of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Tully. But there were saddened sighs to be heard as well, since this war that we kept hearing about had not even begun. A wedding could not be more faraway.

"Father, I have a question."

"What?" Father cried out, as if daring the person to raise their voice again.

"Why can't Robb Stark marry one of us right away, father?" Derwa asked him with the amount of confidence that gobsmacked everyone. How she believed she could get away with anything impressed me, to my utter dismay.

Father raised a brow, but his response finally revealed how gleeful he truly was. He guffawed at Derwa's question, embarrassing her. I couldn't help but snort at that.

"My dear, he has a war to fight ahead. Battles to win and glory to earn. What use does he have for a wife yet? Regardless, if one of you married him right now, and he lost this war, Tywin Lannister would burn our house to the ground."

Everything became silent once more.

"But, let us not talk about dreary subjects. Today, we celebrate. Let us open the casks of Dornish red, send off our men in good spirits and pray to the Seven that we emerge prosperous, no matter who wins!"

The hall burst with a deafening cheer.

It was past evening by the time the so-called celebration ended and the men were getting ready to leave with the Stark bannermen. Most had left for the western castle where they would assemble and join the Starks. I was tucking in Shirei when Walda burst in the room.

"We need to go the balcony."

"What, why?"

"They're crossing. Everyone's trying to get a look at Robb Stark. Come on, Ayana!"

Walda ran towards the balcony, taking me with her by my arm. Honestly, this was the first time I had ever seen her move at such speed. Once we reached the already cramped balcony, Walda tried to push my sisters out of the way to make some space for the both of us. I tried to remain behind as to not fall to my death. My sisters were almost hanging off the railing as is. I tried to see as much as I could from where I stood, but the dark and the rain made it impossible to discern anything.

Then all of a sudden I could see and hear a massive horde of men and horses. The bridge was so full of people that it looked as if men were riding on water. "Gods, that is a lot of people. How are we supposed to make him out of the thousands?"

"Well he would be the one riding at the front." Walda remarked, her tone suggesting the obviousness of it.

Suddenly my sisters started pointing fingers at the front lines of the army. "I see him! I see him!"

I couldn't. And at this point I had lost interest. It was too cold and wet to be standing outside to get a glimpse of someone who definitely did not find us glimpse-worthy in the same way. Also, the ruckus was becoming a bit embarrassing. I turned around and left as another occupied my space. I heard someone yell 'wolf' but I had walked too far off to care. All I cared for now was the relief that I felt, because for the first time the Twins would not be so overcrowded and teeming with lechers. And hopefully, for a long time.

* * *

"May I enter, my lord?" Black Walder announced himself, as he saw his grandfather almost being pushed to tears by Lord Frey.

"What do you want? I thought you would have left by now."

"I was just about to, but I wanted to discuss something before I did." He pointedly looked at his grandfather. "In private."

"Go on then. Stevron, get lost." Stevron shuffled himself quickly out of the room, possibly to find a room to have a good cry in.

Lord Frey sat behind his desk and reassumed his posture of authority. This room was rarely used by him as all of his spare time was spent in his bedchambers attached to this room. But times were changing and he was becoming relevant. He needed to look the part.

"You are quite possibly one of the few kinsmen I have that doesn't have shit for brains, but don't ever presume to think you hold any sway over me, boy."

"I would never. You are my great-grandfather and I have always the best intentions for our house." In that, Black Walder was honest. But he often confused his house with himself.

"So, what do you want?"

Lord Frey might be ancient, but he was sharp still. Black Walder needed to be careful with his words so as to sound so blatantly persuasive, Lord Frey would find him transparent in his machinations. Walder Frey liked to pride himself on reading people, and if he could read them, he could trust them and underestimate them. It was just a matter of showing Walder Frey what he wanted to see while hiding one's true intent. Black Walder knew this extremely well. "I think you need to start preparing the girls, for what is to come."

"And what is that?"

Black Walder decided that a bit of theatrics was needed and walked closer to Lord Frey and murmured. "My lord, this might be the time we finally ascend to our rightful place. The Starks might just be successful in overthrowing the Lannisters." He paused for effect and stared into Lord Frey's eyes. "And if that came true, a Frey girl could end up as a queen."

"Go on."

Black Walder started walking towards the opposite side of the desk and talked as if he were sharing his current inner thoughts. The speech was quite rehearsed in actuality. "Whoever the girl may be, she must know that her duty, her loyalty and obedience lie foremost with us. She would need to do whatever it took to ensure the furtherance of our house. Not the Starks or the Tullys, us."

"This all sounds good Walder, but pray tell me, how am I supposed to know who the Stark whelp would actually choose to marry?" He asked, in an exaggerated disinterested voice, when in reality, he was genuinely on the verge of being impressed.

"I am sure you can narrow down the most desirable options the boy would actually go for. The girls you think best suitable, should be educated formally, to be the best representations of our house. We cannot have more Frey women sully our reputation by being inept and insipid, especially now, when she could have such an influence."

"What makes you think a woman could even manage to sway her husband? The Stark might be a boy, but someone capable of leading a host of men to war could never be strung along by his wife." Lord Frey explained to him as if he were a tutor and Black Walder his student. He knew Lord Frey was proud of him for his suggestions, but he would never show it. As long as Lord Frey thought himself smarter, Black Walder could never appear as a threat.

"Regardless, the girl he does end up choosing must serve us first. This I must urge you to ensure. In the meantime, I will try my best to get close to Stark myself, try to have his ear. He is just a boy after all."

"Be careful though. This is war and he won't be a boy forever."

* * *

Author's Note: The lullaby in this chapter was taken from the film _The Court Jester_ (1955), performed by Danny Kaye. Thank you so much to everyone who read this, left a review, favourited and followed my fic!


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Shivers**

* * *

For the past two months, there was only one thing everyone seemed to talk about – Robb Stark had been crowned as King of the North and the Trident. Overnight he had become a mythic hero, a mighty warrior, a vengeful wolf who fed on the flesh of lions. Bards were already crafting songs and ballads of his victories and the outlaws that called themselves the Brotherhood Without Banners ran amuck the Riverlands, spreading the Young Wolf's message far and wide. It was like one moment no one even knew the Stark boy's name and the next the whole world seemed to revolve around him. As happy as our lord father was with our current position, he was pissed too that a mere boy had achieved something that he could never dream to.

"What news do you have for me today, boy? Have they included the Stark whelp to one of the seven gods now? Are we to start worshipping at his altar?" He scoffed as he kept pawing at Joyeuse's non-existent breast.

"N-no, my lord. It is an urgent missive from Riverrun. They have asked for more aid. Food, medicine and such."

"Don't bother me with any of that. Talk to the bloody maester."

"But, my lord…"

"Ayana?"

"Hmm?" I replied distractedly to Walda, as I dragged my attention away from the high table.

"Are you going to visit Maester Brenett then? After breakfast?"

"I suppose so. I have bookkeeping lessons, and he doesn't have as many willing heads to do his accounting for him anymore."

"What about kitchen duty? Joyce is expecting both of us."

"Take over for me, will ya? And take Shirei to the septa for her lessons." I was already out of my chair as I bid my sisters goodbye and chased after the messenger, who was on his way to the maester.

As I climbed up the stairs to Maester Brenett's work chamber, I wondered what other news the messenger might have brought. All we ever heard in the great hall was how the Starks had won every battle they'd fought. But in truth, there had only been two – one on the Green Fork and the other at Whispering Wood. Robb Stark had indeed emerged victorious over the Lannisters, both father and son. But as I learnt from reading the letters addressed to father, but stored by the maester in his drawers, thousands of men had also perished. A few hundred of which had been our own. When father boasted about his future-son-in-law's 'victories', he failed to mention the deaths of our men. Perhaps he did so to create a sense of content in these times. Or perhaps he just didn't care.

I could hear the ravens croaking from the aviary as I passed it to get to the maester's room. I knocked on his door once and heard clanking sounds before it opened. His wide-eyed face popped out first. His expression suggested he was hiding something, but once he saw it was me, he quickly welcomed me inside.

"Oh, come in, come in. We have so much to get done with today." I could see the opened scroll on his table that the messenger had just brought to father. It was surrounded by several ledgers and letters, but our broken green wax seal stood out amongst all the broken red, black and grey ones. I wanted to know the exact contents of the letter, but I also knew it wasn't meant for my eyes.

"I read some of that book you gave me last week, the one by Archmaester Abelon." I exclaimed as I edged towards the letter.

"Hmm, _When Women Ruled – Ladies of the Aftermath. _And?" He panted out, as he tried to reach another giant ledger from the topmost shelf.

"It's quite enlightening, but I disagree with the tone in which it is written."

"Of course you do and I cannot wait to discuss it with you–" His huffing voice suggested he was already exhausted, not because of all the heavy lifting, but by me. I was humble enough to admit that I could be a little…domineering about my opinions, but I was brighter than most. Joyce said so too. Reading and sparring with words was how I could hone my mind. Someone once had told me that. Someone I despised very much.

"–but we have bigger things to deal with." I brought my attention back to what the maester was talking about and remembered what I had come here for.

"I overheard in the hall. War aid. Can we afford the requirements?"

"To a large extent." He pointed at the letter, urging me to read it. I huffed. All my inconspicuousness for nought. I supposed it wasn't one of those 'secret' letters that were always quickly stashed away whenever someone entered this chamber.

"This is a lot. Symond will never part with so much coin." I had barely read the letter but already the amounts seemed exorbitant. My brother Symond was a tightwad, more so than even our father, which was why he had been our treasurer for nearly twenty years.

"The letter comes from Black Walder. I am sure he would have only asked for what we could afford to send."

"Of course." I scoffed. Then I scoffed again at myself. The best I could do when he was actually in front of me was dither and squirm. Me scoffing at Black Walder's assumption of leadership, as if it were some big joke only I was smart enough to understand, was a joke in itself. Pathetic.

"So, shall we start? We need to tally our expenses this month and send Lord Symond the report. He might be the counter of coins but I have never seen a man so slow at the one job…" He carried on, scratching his balding head while I thoroughly went over Walder's missive.

_Liquor_, of course. _Food items: hardbread, salted meat, oats…Medical supplies: silk, bandages, cotton, rubbing alcohol, vinegar, belladonna, fennel root, willow bark, tansy, milk of poppy_ and it went on for a page more. Most of this we had already restocked on beforehand due to Maester Brenett's keen foresight. The crops had yielded good this year so food would also not be a problem. It was the special medical supplies that would be the costliest, more so due to the huge quantities at which they were being demanded of us. It made me wonder why Black Walder was being so generous with the Starks' requests. Or was this the result of after bargaining with them? Surely the Starks had other resources than just us Freys. Or, maybe this was what all wars costed and I was once again looking too much into nothing.

"And where are your other sisters? Roslin was supposed to accompany you, was she not?" I shrugged in response. Roslin and I weren't that close for me to know her whereabouts at all times. But it was curious that she wasn't already here before me. She liked bookkeeping lessons more than I did.

"Also, Ayana, once we're finished here, could you ask Tyta if she is done with the poultices I requested her to make? Some of the stable boys have fallen quite ill. We can't afford to lose the few of which we have left." Maester Brenett grumbled his last words with a sullen expression, not befitting his usual amiable countenance. It seemed like everyone was displeased with the recent reduction in household staff.

"Of course, Maester Brenett."

The uppermost floors once used to house the most senile and insane of the Freys, often on the verge of death. But now no one wanted these rooms because they were seen as ominous. The rooms had become decrepit and winds howled through the gaps in the hallway walls due to lack of use and care. If one chose to reside in these rooms, it was accepted that either they were insane, or their death imminent. The fact that Tyta was the sole person who preferred to live on one of these floors, only solidified everyone's superstitious beliefs.

"Tyta? I brought you something to eat. You missed breakfast, and lunch." I called, knocking on her door. When I heard no response, I let myself in anyway. She was probably out in the woods, or too busy concocting recipes, for her to hear me. Unlike most of my sisters' rooms, hers I was allowed in whenever. "Maester Brenett asked if the healing poultices are ready yet…what are you doing?" I kept the food tray by her bedside and moved towards where she sat.

I found her hunched over her potion books and murmuring to herself. The only light in the room came from her small fireplace and when I reached to face her directly, I saw that she wasn't murmuring to herself, but the flames.

"Tyta?" Instantly, my voice seemed to wake her up from her daze.

"Oh! My lovely sister, how thoughtful of you. Come join me." She gestured for me to sit next to her and hold her hands while she…prayed. _Shit_. I looked towards the door to check if I had it properly latched before I did as she requested. We didn't do this often because the one time we had, the previous Lady Frey had caught us and father had had us both rapped on our knuckles. I didn't know what we'd done wrong. But as Joyce had put salve on my hands that night, she warned me to never betray my gods like that again. I hadn't understood what she meant when I was seven, but by fifteen, my septa had impressed upon me that I belonged to the Faith of the Seven and that if I wasn't faithful to _my_ gods, they would punish me.

"Tyta, if someone finds out–"

"Hush, no one will." I tried to think of some excuse to leave the room but for some reason I found myself unable to move. I couldn't tell if it was because she had convinced me into this or if I was physically rendered not to.

"What are we doing?"

"Would you like to know what your future holds?" I wanted to exclaim no and dash out of the room. But a small part of me was intrigued by my sister, like I had always been. So instead I asked her what I always wanted to.

"Tyta, you're not a witch, are you?" Instantly, her face became awash with betrayal and I regretted my words. Everyone mocked her for being a spinster to her face, but behind her back, everyone was terrified of her, because they believed her to be a sorceress.

"Many would call me that, yes. But I do not like the term. I only dare to worship the one true god, and he tells me things. He has been telling me things for quite some time now." Well, I supposed there was no point beating around the bush any longer. Everyone had been right. She had abandoned the Faith for the red gods of the east. Or was it just one god? I had read something about this temple in Volantis…and I was getting distracted.

Tyta had once again turned her attention to the fireplace and she looked devastated. Tears started rolling down her cheeks and I became worried.

"What do you see?"

"I see…death. My death. Soon now. Don't die!" I jolted at her exclamation as she kept on rambling, whilst still facing the flames. "Oh 'yana, I won't be there to see your wedding. But you look so beautiful, so content. You are out of this world. Trust me, you have love in your eyes, and so does he. Lie to me. So innocent. Blue, blue, blue!"

"Tyta, you're scaring me." I couldn't seem to shake her away from the fire this time. She kept muttering away, things that didn't make any sense and some that did, terrifying me to my very core. The fire seemed to increase in its fervour with every chant she uttered.

"It's so cold. And dark, so very dark." She said with her eyes shut tight. And then all of a sudden she ceased moving, and the fire calmed.

"What is? Tyta? Wake up!"

"The night." Her head snapped towards mine. Her brown hair took on the colour of the flames behind her, as she opened her white eyes, with no pupils in them. "The night is dark, and full of terrors."

The fire extinguished itself and Tyta fell flat on her face.

"Help! Someone!"

* * *

"How is she now?"

Joyce and I were the only ones in the kitchens at the moment, with only the hearth giving us light. Given my recent experience with fire, I chose to stand as far away from it as possible. When I had screamed for help, none of my sisters had wanted to enter. Septa Elyse had stepped in the room to take me away from Tyta and remarked snidely that she had to be 'cleansed' once and for all. Her quirks had been tolerated so far because they usually involved her healer's touch, that could rival even the maester's, who himself relied on Tyta from time to time. Everyone tried to look the other way when Tyta would go to the woods by herself and return all bloodied with legs of rabbits and dead hatchlings and what not. She was strange, yes, but she was also one of the few older female figures I could look up to. In truth, most of what she did fascinated me as well. She'd once helped a farmer's boy recover from a bout of pox that even the maester had deemed incurable, when she was only seventeen. But today, whatever had happened, had been too much, even for me.

"Maester Brenett is examining her. I didn't go back to check on her though." Which I was feeling guilty about. Whenever I had been sick, she had always been by my bedside, whispering and putting healing charms around my bed. All I could do in return was run away from her.

"Good. She's always been odd, that one. She might be your sister but I have never thought her influence good for ya. I've seen you two huddled together, readin your spell books."

"Seven hells! They are books for making medicinal potions and poultices, nothing more. You of all people should know how useful a skill like hers can be. When your mother got sick a year ago, it was Tyta who scoured through her books all night and found the herb mixture that helped her get all better."

"I know that, and I will forever be grateful to her." And she must truly be, because my words seemed to have made her embarrassed. However, even her embarrassment couldn't stop her from expressing her fears. "But, everyone knows she concerns herself with blasphemous notions. Everyone says she renounced the Faith for the Lord of Light long ago."

I couldn't say much to that. I wanted to forget the entire day altogether and go to bed. But my stomach growled.

"Ayana, have you eaten anything today?"

"No, hadn't the time."

"Horseshite. Don't think you're foolin anyone. You are still growing 'yana and I know I'm no' your mother. But, I will force food down your gullet if I have to, if I see you starvin yourself again, ya hear?" A scolding, perfect. Just what I needed after being traumatised. Her northern voice had become sharper which usually happened whenever she got agitated. Which meant that she must truly be worried for me.

"Yes, I hear." After being properly shamed, I took a bite out of the fluffiest honeybread I had tasted, that Joyce had freshly pulled out of the oven. Since the war began, a lot of the kitchen and other servant staff had left as part of the men's retinue, and a large part of the household workload had fallen on people who weren't accustomed to this kind of work. Joyce was Derwa's handmaid, but now she also helped spearhead the kitchens, until a proper cook could be hired. I and Walda often helped her but we both still had lessons, that were becoming unimportant by the day. Roslin and I tried to help Maester Brenett with his ledgers since Olyvar, Whalen and Perwyn had all left to fight. The Frey women had taken over most of the work around the keep, and as exciting as our days had gotten from before, it was also exhausting. On top of that, most of my sisters had already started abandoning their duties. Joyce might be a stern matronly woman but for some reason even she couldn't seem to threaten my sisters into helping.

"Do you know where the rest of my sisters have been? I hardly see them anymore."

"You don't know?"

"No. Should I?"

I could see Joyce hesitate, measuring for the right words. I didn't think the reason behind my sisters' absence could be anything sinister, but her hesitation made me think otherwise.

"Your father, well, he ordered for new septas, from Oldtown."

I raised a brow at Joyce so she could elaborate further. We already had a septa and she wasn't on the brink of death. And even if she were, we would only need the one to replace her.

"Derwa's got one for herself. A mean old hag really but she's helping her, I think."

"Helping her? Derwa's eighteen. She no longer needs a septa. And since when does each and every girl get her own septa? Septa Elyse teaches all of us at once and there's twenty of us."

"Not every girl, Ayana. Only the ones your father has chosen. The ones that he thinks are fit to marry the king."

"Oh. How many?"

"Like six or so."

"I don't understand. Septas are meant for children, not women."

"These ones are different. The septas I mean. They're more like…tutors. They are to help with etiquette and courtesies and such. To make for a good wife and–"

"Queen."

* * *

Roslin, Marissa and I were the only ones left that held the slightest interest in helping the maester maintain his ledgers. We all liked to read in our spare time and this was a little like reading. I personally enjoyed it. It was peaceful in his chamber and the sums kept my mind occupied. But today I found myself distracted. Joyce's information about the so-called new septas tutoring the chosen sisters seemed excessive. Septas were sent to a household to educate girls to be proper wives, but six were just too many. How a sept could even manage such a large contribution to a single household, I couldn't fathom. I looked at my two sisters and wondered if they were one of the chosen ones to receive such special treatment.

I could definitely see Roslin as a queen. She was a year elder to me and she was quite lovely looking. She played the harp well, was well-read and her nature was calm. But her full blood sister Derwa would outshine her any day. Her hazel eyes and prominent cheekbones all made for a very regal look. She already thought herself a queen anyway, might as well make it official. I could even see Fair Walda giving her a run for her money, with her golden locks and cerulean eyes. If only she hadn't already devoted herself to one man. Alyx was also one our beauties, a year elder to me and already quite nubile. If father was selecting the daughters he would finally present to Robb Stark, like Joyce had implied, and each of them had been bestowed with their personal tutors, that meant–

Oh.

I wasn't one of them.

For some reason, despite Joyce having told this to me quite plainly, I had failed to register at the moment that I had not been considered as a choice for King Robb. Maybe I had registered but chosen to ignore it at the time so Joyce wouldn't see how it did sting, just a little.

But it didn't hurt as much until Arwyn rubbed it in my face.

"I got one. Gods even Zia got one. I guess you are now officially an unwanted Frey woman, shaming our house because of your hideous looks."

This wasn't the first time Arwyn had made a pointed remark about my looks, and after having heard them for so long, I had built up a slight tolerance. However, it was what her statement implied that made me truly reflect my position.

For some reason, Robb Stark had become so essential to us, seemingly overnight, that our worth was being determined by his whims. He was marrying one of us so he could get a bridge and our resources in dowry. Whoever got chosen would have to live with the fact that her worth was decided for her, forever. 'The Queen in the North costs one bridge and half an army!'

And the rest of us who didn't get chosen? The rest of us would have to live with the fact that our worth was less than a bridge. I hated the king more than anything, for this. That by making the pact with our lord father, he had deemed each of us unworthy in one sweep. And we would believe it too. Because who else but a king could decide such a thing. He was now the most important man in our world.

If this had been a typical exchange, the Stark King would have bought his passage by giving _us_ something in exchange. That is what Maester Brenett taught us how deals worked. You gained something by losing something. If Robb Stark had gained a bridge, in return, he had lost his right to choose his own wife. Therefore, what we represented for him, was loss. For our father, he gained an affiliation to a king by granting him our support, and we became the medium of that exchange – for him, we were a currency. But for the king, we were less than even that. Because for the king we were the very act of his great sacrifice. We were the pain that came with killing love for the sake of duty.

Who in the seven hells would ever want to be all of _that_?

As I looked into Arwyn's smug face, I prayed that if she ever hurt me, truly, she would get what she so desperately wanted. That she would be the one burdened with the awareness that her husband would only ever see her as a loss – a painful act of sacrifice. And that her total worth equalled an old road made of mud and bricks.

* * *

"She is running a fever."

"Is that the reason why she collapsed? I don't see why I had to come all the way here to see her like this. You expect me to do what? Put warm washcloth on her forehead? Sing her a lullaby? I am sure she'll be fine, she's nearing thirty."

"Two of the stable boys I had been administering have already perished. I overheard in the markets that some local traders have been in similar conditions, coughing up blood and running quite the temperature, and shivering until their last breath. And now Lady Tyta looks to be sharing similar symptoms. The first two times I assumed it was a common lung infection, but lungwort would have worked if it had been."

"So? What does this mean?"

"I-I might have to inspect the nearby villages and see if this is something–"

"A plague?!"

"My Lord, please! If you could lower your voice. We don't want to cause any panic. We can't be sure of anything yet. But in case this is an…outbreak, I'll have to perform bloodletting immediately and bar entry to this entire floor, for as long as needed."

"Oh, we are going to do much more than just that. Inspect every single person in the household before any of them get close to me and mine, you understand?! The Twins will shut their gates forthwith."

Within minutes of their exit from Tyta's room, I could hear my father yelling downstairs, prohibiting everyone from entering the upper floor. So much for not causing panic. I was already on my way to her chambers when I had caught the exchange between the maester and father and hid behind a tapestry until they both left.

I stepped inside Tyta's room to see how she was doing since the last time I saw her. I had thought that her fainting spell was because she hadn't eaten, or maybe due to her…praying. But looking at her grey-hued skin, I could see the maester was right. She was grievously ill. In the span of two days, her appearance had changed so drastically, she was barely recognisable. Her hair looked thinner, her cheeks looked gaunt and despite being piled on with thick blankets, she kept trembling. A bowl was sat next to her, I assumed for the blood she was coughing up. I could no longer hold my tears back.

"Tyta, you'll be fine, I promise. The maester's already started working on getting you better." She had been the only elder sister who had looked after me, cared for me, nurtured me. And I was terrified she was going to leave me by myself. I couldn't lose her. By this time tomorrow, she would already be hunched over her books, reciting the list of ingredients needed for some new ailment, that I would go collect for her happily. She would slip me a vial of arrowroot powder so my fat thighs wouldn't chafe and burn in this constant muggy weather. I needed her to assure me that she would be fine, even if she wouldn't be.

"N-no, my bird. This is it for me. My time has come. And I wanted to g-give you something. Your hand." I gave it to her without hesitation. "My wedding gift, to you."

"I'm not getting married, Tyta. You're dreaming." Why was this happening so quickly? I had seen a few deaths over the years and the last words of those dying never made much sense. Septa Elyse told us that before passing over to the afterlife, the Stranger gave the dying a last moment of happiness, in the form of dreams.

"Yes, you are. Look into the flames, sweetling. They will guide you, always."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hello! Sorry for such a long delay but I have just realised how damn difficult it is to put one's thoughts into just the right kind of words. I have always admired fanfic writers, but now my level of admiration for them has been multiplied by a thousand. The rest of my note below might be a little spoiler-y, so please feel free to skip it. It just lays out what I want to accomplish with this fic as a fanfic writer.

My intention with this fic is to not just introduce an OC and have her fall in love with the main character and have that be her only purpose (not at all saying that that's a bad thing, just something I am trying not to do). I want more from my character in this story, otherwise what's the point of writing a story with an OC? The world of GoT is so rich and I want to explore its dynamics from a more ground level and having a sort of irrelevant (as of yet) character give her perspective on the larger events is something I really enjoy to read and want to write. Which means for me, more fleshing out of the OC. Which also means more filler chapters like this to establish her environment, her personality, background, etc., because just as you are getting to know her, I am too. But don't worry, this is still a Robb/OFC fic, which means the Young Wolf will eventually arrive. One day. In like two or three chapters.

Also, also, apart from introducing my OC as the element of change, another element of change I have introduced, which will become a big part for the future chapters is a big ol' plague. (Winter is coming in various forms in this one)

**Again, thank you so much for reading, favouriting, following and reviewing my fic. It really does mean a lot. Until next time!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Gift**

* * *

"Let me go!"

"She–is–hysterical–my lord! We must–lock her away–immediately!" Maester Brenett cried out, while father and the rest of the household stood and watched from the opposite end of the corridor. The maester had covered himself from head-to-toe; from a makeshift helm covering his face, to chafing gauntlets, which were seizing me by the arms – hauling me to one of the rooms at the end of Tyta's hallway.

My sister was dead.

And now they presumed I had whatever she had had.

Carelessly pushed inside, I was told that I would be observed for the next two days to see if I developed any signs of the sickness. It had not even been five minutes since her passing, when they had dragged me away from her side. No one had wanted to come near to mourn her, nor to comfort me. After, her room had been locked shut, with her body still laying there, until it could be safely removed from the keep. Her death had been meaningless. And when I looked into Maester Brenett's pitying eyes, I was certain mine would be as well.

"Have faith, Ayana. All will be well, I promise." He whispered his assurances, as my father yelled at him to hurry up.

Before he could shut me out however, I had to ask, "Maester Brenett? Could you not burn everything in her room? Her books, her notes – they are too precious."

"I–I shall try, my lady." He gave a stiff nod, shutting the door hurriedly – locking it with his jangling set of keys; cutting me off from the world outside.

A lone cot, a chamber pot and not much else lay within this hovel. No one had bothered to light a fire, so the little light that came, did through a tiny window. After the commotion outside died down, I remembered everything all over.

Another person, lost. And now this wretched disease was going to take everyone with it. I knelt on the floor, facing the window above, and prayed to the Mother – that she would at least keep safe my Shirei. And Walda. And Joyce. And me. Tears came naturally then. I was going to die. Dead and forgotten.

The silence made me sob harder, louder. I wanted them to hear me; to not forget that I still lived. Eventually, tiring myself out, I laid down on the threadbare cot, open eyed, listening to the quiet. I thought about that massive book I had been riffling through – that one chapter about a woman named Alys Rivers, the witch queen of Harrenhal, some Targaryen's bastard lover. I remembered folding the corner of the page I'd stopped on, forgetting how it always irked Maester Brenett. It probably still sat on the corner table of the library, gathering dust.

Evening turned to dusk as moonlight trickled in through that hole of a window. Every breath of mine sounded louder than before, and the more I noticed it, the louder it became. I tried to focus on some other sound. Usually the keep was so noisy that most of us were accustomed to talking louder than how normal people talked. So, to not be able to make out even the slightest peep, was unsettling.

Without the constant hollering of children chasing each other in the halls, the maids calling everyone out for supper, the usual drunken racket at this hour in the dining hall – without all the sounds of the living – this keep became foreign to me. I had lived here my entire life, yet I'd never once noticed that the river that flowed underneath our bridge, made sounds even when the weather stayed calm.

It sounded…similar to a gentle fizzle, as if one were pouring wine down a never-ending goblet. Lulled by the gentle hush, I could no longer stop myself from falling into a deep, dark slumber…

* * *

I woke up to find myself in a room much darker than the one I had been locked inside of. There was no window, nor was I lying on the moth eaten mattress. Even the musty smell was missing. No sound, no smell, no light. Just endless dark. Had I lost my senses? I tried to move, step by step, hoping to brush against something. But the only thing I could touch was the cold ground I walked upon. At least I knew I still retained one of my senses.

Suddenly, with no warning, the ground tilted, as if it had changed its mind and decided to become a wall instead. I flailed, trying to dig my nails into the slippery, spinning floor-wall, but failed. I began plummeting into the inky abyss.

In a span of a second and eternity, the darkness changed to a smoky, formless gray mist – the change in light blinding – through which I could discern some shadows. But before I could adjust to this change, the nothingness transformed once more and wind whipped my face, as I tumbled through thick branches, finding myself about to crash.

The crash never came. Instead, I landed perfectly on my feet with a gentle thud. And then, I was running.

_My heart was surely going to rip out of my chest at the rate I was racing. Someone was howling my name behind me, in a sing-song voice. _

"_Ayana! Ayana! You can run as long as you want but I will find you. And when I do…"_

_I hated this game the most. Every time he offered to play with me, I thought we would play something else, but no. We always, always played this. Branches and fronds smacked me in the face as I began running off course, through the bushes._

_I blinked and was split in two moments – I was running and then watching myself run from a distance._

_Maybe I was him too._

_I could see her now, leaping through a bush – hair wild, skirts in tatters. She turned her head to see if I were close, and promptly fell on her face. _

_I fell, hard. It hurt. My cheek throbbed. The skin on my knees had split open minutes into the chase. But despite the physical pain, it was the loss that stung more. I got caught. Again._

_Climbing off my horse, I sauntered towards her, while she determinedly tried to lie as still as possible. She would never show me her tears. I knew as much. Though much as I enjoyed seeing her this way, a part of me felt something akin to guilt._

"_You have injured yourself." _

_I wouldn't ever answer him. I would lie still until he thought I was dead, and left. Then I would run away from him, forever. I would win._

"_I can help you, sweet. You need only ask."_

_Never._

_As I pretended to be unconscious, I realised something: _

_This had happened to me before. This was not a dream. The realisation brought me out of both my younger-self, and him. Now I could see them both on the forest floor from a distance, as if I were watching a play. I could see it now – that it was my fight he revelled in. That if I had only submitted sooner, he would have lost interest. But how could I have known? When he had always claimed to love me. A time when his voice did not chill my very bones._

_I was him once more– _

_She was feisty. Just like her mother._

_Black Walder, they called him. Because when he raged, he turned…black? Never understood what the colour had to do with his temper. He was always so sweet to me – like sticky honey. He flipped me around to face him and began tending to my wounds. From this close, I could make out his one slightly lazy green eye. His sable curls remained in place – his cheekbones sharp and high. He resembled the knight he was._

"_I have to say, you did better than last time. But don't ever think you can outrun, or outsmart me. Next week, you will begin with a horse."_

_Her puzzled eyes seemed to ask the purpose of all this. But I knew she never would do so aloud. She knew just when to fight, and just when to submit. She was perfect. I had ensured it so._

"_And remember, this is our little secret."_

"_Our little secret." I murmured, as he gently pulled me into his arms, while I sunk back into darkness._

I opened my eyes where darkness loomed again. It had gotten colder since before. Still couldn't see a thing. I woke up in the same position as in the forest, laying on my front, but here the ground felt smooth, glass-like. Knocking on it with my knuckles, I heard the rap echo. I sat up and waited for something to happen again; waited and waited but nothing happened.

"Hello?" I asked aloud, my voice echoing back at me. Maybe this was a cave? Not that I had ever been in one before. But it would be similar to this; all cold, dark and empty. "Hello!" I raised my voice again, which was returned with more echoes. It felt as if my echoes were mocking me.

"Hello, Hello, HELLO!"

A clamour of my echoes called back at me. At the very least they made me feel I was in an open space in this suffocating dark. I was ready to yell some more, as soon as the echoes diminished to whispers. But they didn't.

Whispers from faraway. I wanted to move towards them but I couldn't see which way was forward. I focused on the source of the sound and started walking, with my arms raised, so as to not dash into a wall.

Closer, closer, closer.

Whispers…they were whispers of leaves.

The world shifted and changed again as I kept walking, shadows rising around me as darkness ebbed away, and I found myself walking into another forest.

_Red leaves, a man sitting beneath them, sharpening his blade, by a pool of clear water, and a little boy sitting by his knees._

"_Father, I am scared."_

"_What is the matter, son?"_

"_I…don't want you to die."_

_He stopped whetting his blade and set it aside._

"_Why do you think I am going to die?"_

"_Mother said you are leaving. To fight."_

_A pained sigh escaped him, as he reached to brush the boy's hair with his hand. "It is true, m' boy. But I have to go, to protect our home, our family."_

"_But you could die. Someone could kill you in battle."_

"_Only if they are very, very good." The boy looked at his father's mighty sword, the one of legends, and looked back at his wielder. He was reassured._

"_Will I die?" The question took the man by surprise. The boy was afraid, not of battle, not of his father leaving, but of death itself. How to console a child from something so unknowable, and inevitable?_

"_No. As long as I am alive, I will protect you. Your mother will protect you."_

_The man picked up his blade again and returned to his task, watching the boy from the corner of his eyes. He sighed a breath of relief when the boy became busy with his wooden toy-soldiers. Death. The boy had wanted to know what death meant, but the man had tactfully avoided answering that. His son was young still. One day he would discover the truth on his own, or find comfort in either his father's faith or his mother's. Till that day came however, the boy…_

I blinked and was back in the dark cave. This was getting tiresome rather quickly. Someone had put me here; perhaps to torture me, or prank me. This had to be a game. The visions could be explained away by some concoction to make me hallucinate. Tyta's books contained all sorts of recipes.

"Alright. I don't know what is going on, but I am quite finished. Do you hear me? I want to leave! You've won!"

The echoes rushed back, morphing into a cacophony of strange sounds. Blades clashing, nails scraping against glass, screams of agony, howls, laughter. I smashed my palms against my ears to shut them out. The familiar silence returned. The longer this lasted, the more this place–this world felt…permanent. It was unlike when the world changed and I traversed through forests. Those experiences had felt more dreamlike. This–this felt cold, and hard. I could only conclude one thing.

Tyta was dead. And I must be too.

Was this it? Was I done? Were these the dreams that were supposed to ease me into death – into this place? I placed my fingers on my wrist to check for my pulse, like Maester Brenett had with Tyta, and felt nothing. So, this was it then. Submerged in complete darkness, having random visions of trees and past memories, with only my echoes for company.

Death was so underwhelming. What in the actual seven hells was I supposed to do now? I thought–I thought, in death you could reunite with the ones you lost. So where was _she_?

"Mother?" I whispered, so the echoes wouldn't consume my call and regurgitate it as loud noise, making it hard for her to find me by my voice.

Nothing happened for a while. But then, a gentle blue light began emanating through my chest. I could see! I pulled out the glowing thing out of my dress and there it was: mother's ring. It shone bright enough for me to see a bit farther away from myself. I stood up, stretching out my arm, so the little gem could spread the light as far as possible. It was indeed a dark cavern, as I had suspected, but either the walls were as black as onyx, or the cave was so enormous that the light could still not reach its edges.

But oh! There was someone…or something, shuffling. If this were death, then one thing was clear to me; being here by myself was much more terrifying than meeting with the Stranger himself.

"Show yourself, please. I–I don't wish to be by myself here." The world spun once more, the floor whirling beneath my feet as I keeled over and fell on my back. Black became gray and gray gave way to an open sky, awash with stars and a full moon. The grass beneath was dewy and soft, tickling the back of my neck. This was the darkness I preferred. Perfect amount of dark it was; eerie, yet thrilling. Anything more and it was suffocating. Trees and bushes surrounded me and I realised that all three of my dreams had had this thing in common–

–but before I could further ponder upon that, a soothing haze set in, giving this vision an even dreamier appearance. I was also not alone anymore. I turned my head sideways, and there he was.

"_You were saying…?" He asked, splayed nonchalantly, his arms crossed above his head, and one knee bent and leaning against both of mine. Both of us faced the night sky; split with hues of black and blue and violet. It was a balmy night._

_His voice made me giggle. "What was I saying?"_

"_How the moon is magical."_

"_Oh, yes! Don't you think so?" I looked around – the pond beside us was silvered in the same light that blinked through the leaves of the giant tree above us. The leaves, my arms, his neck; everything was shrouded in the pale gossamer of moonlight, washing out all the colours until everything either gleamed like pearls, or was shaded in charcoal. It made it possible to see just enough of him, as shadows danced across his face. Any more, and I knew he would not appear as ethereal as he did right now. "It makes everything more enchanting than it really is. Hides the ugliness away."_

"_I think I like daylight better. Everything is visible; nothing can hide. Everything is real."_

"_Well I like daylight too. I like how it brings out all the colours; the life. But be honest – Would you rather kiss under the scorching sun, or the gentle moon?"_

"_I'd kiss you under a snowstorm, matters not to me."_

"_Ugh, you don't understand."_

_He sighed. "I suppose, if I were being honest, the moon – it scares me a little." He shifted his head towards me, cheek pressed against the dewy grass, but refusing to meet my gaze, as if ashamed._

"_Why?"_

"_Because it controls the wolf."_

"_You're scared of the wolf?"_

"_No. Control."_

"_I don't unders–"_

_His breath hitched, making me halt as he caught my wrist. He sat up, looking about frantically, curls and shadows still hiding his face. He bent his head towards me, cupping my hand in his boyish palms, and fear coated his plea. "Stay right with me, sunshine. I hate being here by myself." The boy who had not looked at me once, now met my eyes directly – and when he blinked, his eyes were blue frost–_

–and I gasped awake in my cave, facing a pair of golden eyes peering down at me. What had I thought caves were again? Empty? _Such a fool!_ Caves were never empty; they were where beasts resided, and I had alerted one right to me. The glowing ring, laying on my chest, revealed enough for me to determine that the beast had a sharp set of teeth.

Taking advantage of the cold and smooth ground – which now with the aid of the blue light I could see was indeed made of ice – I placed my weight upon my hands, lifted myself off the ground and carefully slid from beneath the beast. I shut that part of my mind which was wondering why the beast hadn't already chewed my head off, and focused on getting away. Managing to glide away quite successfully, I stood up ready to run, but found the beast merely staring.

"What are you looking at? Aren't you going to chase me?" The beast gave me a momentary look and began trotting away.

"Wait, no! Don't leave me!"

Echoing whispers rang around me as I chased after the beast, yelling at him to stop. I had no idea why I commanded said beast to remain with me, but I just knew, in my heart, that he belonged with me; my companion in death and darkness.

All of a sudden he stopped, giving me enough time to pour my blue light onto his entirety. First of all, he was indeed…a he. Second, he was massive enough for me to ride him like a horse. Third, he was a wolf.

"Do you see something?" He snorted in return, as if affronted at my questioning his vision. Directing his golden eyes at me, he turned his head towards the darkness, and then back at me, almost gesturing me to–

"Hey! Don't shove me." Nudging his snout at my knees, he forced me to move towards the direction of nothingness. "You are so rude, d'you know that?" Tilting his face to the side, he gave me that look again, right before he turned around and padded away from me.

"Thanks for nothing." I muttered to myself, as I watched my companion disappear out of my light's scope. What part of not leaving me had he not understood?

Walking this time felt more of a task than before. The air was much colder, and the ice beneath my bare feet was certainly not helping. My cotton dress was not well suited for these conditions, but then, it hadn't been an issue a while ago. This place had become more real; more harsh. Shivers took over my body and teeth began to chatter. Every breath inhaled burned my nostrils. No dreams came now, to take me away.

Was it possible to die after dying?

I stopped. I could not go any further. As soon as I gave up on continuing the wolf's quest, he returned. Huffing disappointedly, he knelt on the frozen ground, gesturing for me to climb atop him. His coat was warm and fluffy. Without waiting a moment longer, he burst into a sprint, with me holding onto his fur, as my legs bounced off his sides. He must have run for hours, or mere moments, but now I could see what he had seen.

A lone flame. Barely brighter than my ring.

But it was so warm. I could feel its heat, thawing me. It was strange – my back was numb with cold, but compared to it, my front was searing. If a flame so small had the capacity to warm me, then what could it be behind us that was freezing me so?

The beast growled, increasing speed. I was so very lost. Was someone after us? My back felt as if it were on fire; a sensation of needles prickling my exposed neck. All I knew, that whatever was after us, could be outrun.

And I _could_ outrun anyone.

"Run fast like the wind." I pulled at his neck-fur, urging him like a horse towards that unreachable flame.

"_The night is dark and full of terrors."_ Tyta's words rang clear in my head, but the night did not frighten me. This cold did – a threat that had creeped up on me, unnoticed – which made me mad at myself, for taking my surroundings for granted this entire time. No wonder the beast had been disappointed.

And now warmth was within reach; and if I could feel warm, then I must be alive.

"Take me home."

He howled and took a giant leap into the air…

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hello y'all. It has certainly been a while and wow has the world changed so much since the last time I posted. This chapter took me much longer (6 months) than I thought it would, considering not much of relevance happens here (or does it?) I want to say it will be smooth sailing from here on out, updating wise – but you know, it just takes me so damn long to put together a decent, flowing chapter that links well with the rest of my story. I have most of it planned out of course, but fleshing out individual chapters is harder than I previously thought. But, we persevere.

Also, how TF did this fic become so topical and prophetic? If I had known this would be the world we would be living in right now, I certainly would not have included a pandemic in this fic – that is not the kind of escape I need in my life right now and neither do you. But rest assured, it is a plotline for mostly time-jumping purposes in this fic so it'll pass in a few chaps – though the implications might linger for a while [should I put trigger warning…?].

Hopefully, I will update in a week or two (the next chapter is half-finished), so until then – Stay safe, be kind, donate if possible – and we shall overcome. Thank you as always for reading, following, favouriting and reviewing.


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